


Great Expectations

by Ataleofterror



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Universe, Dirty Talk, Hate Sex, Hickey caught feelings and he doesn't like it, Jealousy, John Bridgens' shame cock, M/M, Pining, Rebound Sex, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ataleofterror/pseuds/Ataleofterror
Summary: It's Carnival, and Cornelius Hickey and John Bridgens are both heart-sick at the sight of Billy Gibson and Harry Peglar dancing, so they take a step outside...
Relationships: John Bridgens/Cornelius Hickey, William Gibson/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

Hickey knocks on the wall next to Bridgens’ curtain in a rare act of courtesy. The ice has packed them in and there is a little more movement between both ships now that they are steady neighbours.

“Yes, come in!” Bridgens is expecting Henry and is surprised to see a small, furtive-looking man lurking outside his berth. He’s seen the same look in men coming to see him before. He recognises it well.

“I heard you were the man to see about books,” the man says sheepishly.

“I do a lesson every Sunday after service, you’re welcome to join, son. There’s no shame in it. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”

Hickey looks confused for a moment and a bemused smile breaks across his face when he realises the man thinks he can’t read.

“Can you write your name, do numbers?” Bridgens asks kindly.

“I’m not an illiterate, Mr Bridgens,” he says in a mock-jovial tone. “I’m after books. Dickens, if you have any. I’ve gone through what’s to be had on Terror.”

“Oh, please accept my apologies...”

“Hickey.”

“Mr. Hickey, apologies… often when a man comes knocking on my door, it’s for help with writing and such.”

“ABs, you mean. Not too many illiterate officers, I should think.”

“No,” John says awkwardly, keen to right the wrong note he’s sounded with the conversation.

“The Dickens, if you have it?”

Bridgens is unnerved by the look Hickey gives him and fumbles around on his bookshelf, finding a copy of Bleak House.

“I meant no offence, Mr. Hickey, truly,” Bridgens pleads as he hands over the book.

“No need to apologise,” Hickey replies, snatching it out of his hands and departing as quickly as he came. He brushes past Henry, who notices John looking out of sorts as he heads into his cabin.

“What was that about?” he asks as he opens John’s curtain.

“Oh, nothing. I may have put my foot in it with Mr. Hickey.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted a book, Henry, and I thought he was after basic instruction. I think I may have offended him.”

“What did you give him?”

“He was after Dickens, of all things.” He and Henry share an amused glance.

“Don’t concern yourself about him, John. You’re not the first one to come up against him.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, he’s a caulker’s mate who reads Dickens, first of all. How many of them do you know?” They share a laugh.

“And there’s talk about him on Terror. He’s not well liked. He’s always causing trouble, grousing, has duty owing, whispering in people’s ears. And there are… rumours…” Henry gives him a meaningful look.

John looks momentarily concerned.

“Rumours, what kind of rumours?”

“About his… inclinations. And a certain officers’ steward.”

John rushes to close the curtain. “Keep your voice down Henry, for God’s sake. And keep away from that man if he’s attracting attention. Has the Captain noticed him?”

“Well, John, apparently the Captain offered him a drink, and this has done nothing but puff up his feathers even more.”

“A drink with the Captain?!”

“He was in caulking the privy, and Crozier doesn’t like to miss an opportunity to raise a toast, I’m sure.”

“Mind how you go, Henry,” John says, placing his hand gently on Henry’s arm. “You don’t want to be the one causing talk now, do you?” John leaves his hand on Henry’s arm a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. Memories of their time on the Wanderer come springing back to John’s mind and he dares to look Henry in the eye, sure that he too is thinking of that precious time.

“I’d best be off,” Henry says, pulling his arm away as if he’s been burnt. “I’ll see you at the football match.”

*

The night of Carnival arrives and Billy Gibson and Henry Peglar are dancing slowly in the sea of other men. Both are red-cheeked and merry. They are close but not close enough to cause unwanted attention, especially on a night such as Carnival. They are being keenly observed by two other men on opposite sides of the melee.

Cornelius Hickey, gentleman, exits the scene in disgust. He’s no desire to see Billy making a fool of himself over some young ruddy-cheeked boy. He lights a cigarette and watches his breath float away as another figure joins him outside the tent.

“Bridgens.”

“Mr. Hickey. Inspired by Great Expectations for your costume, were you?”

“If I’m Pip, that makes you Miss Havisham, I wager.”

“How’s that then?”

“I think you know very well what I mean, Mr. Bridgens,” Hickey offers with a smirk.

“I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“You don’t need to pretend with me Bridgens, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“You’ve had too much rum, Mr. Hickey. It’s gone to your head.”

“You needn’t feign ignorance around a man who was lashed for “dirtiness,” John.” This is the first time Hickey has ventured to call him by his first name. “I’ve seen you looking all starry-eyed at a certain Mr. Peglar.”

“I’m fond of the lad, certainly, there’s nothing untoward about that, Hickey,” John says with irritation.

“Indeed. And there was a time when I was fond of Billy Gibson. Seems they’re rather fond of each other, now,” he says with some bitterness, turning to look John in the eye.

“Did he let you fuck him?” Hickey asks in a flat tone.

Bridgens is taken aback by his coarse language. “Jesus Christ Hickey, keep your voice down, or have you got a taste for lashing now?”

“Oh, they’re all lushy now, Bridgens, and the Captain is still stricken by ‘gastritis’. For once, we can be frank.”

“You can be as frank as you like, Hickey, I’ll not return the favour.”

Hickey turns around again and smokes his cigarette, leaning on a crate, looking into the distance.

“Billy Gibson used to let me fuck him. Then that jumped-up bastard Irving had to get in the way and ruin my nice situation. So tell, me, did Peglar let you fuck him?”

“I don’t care for this conversation,” Bridgens says, turning on his heel to go back inside.

“You’d like to though, wouldn’t you? A dirty old man fucking a young lad like that? You must be old enough to be his father.”

“I won’t have you speak to me like that, Mr. Hickey.”

“You’ve fucked other lads though, haven’t you? Gone looking for young, soft-faced ones that look like him down the docks, I’ll bet, on lonely nights. Did he ever let you have him?”

Hickey comes forward and looks Bridgens in the eye. He is uncomfortably close.

“Once,” Bridgens says, giving up all attempts at pretence and finding comfort in using this coarse little man as his confessor.

“Once. And that was enough to keep you pining all these years?” Hickey asks, looking genuinely confused.

“Yes,” Johns says quietly.

“You must be aching for it now.”

“Perhaps,” he says sadly, thinking of Henry and his gentle, sweet eyes.

“I took a shit in Billy Gibson’s bed when he dobbed me in.” Bridgens screws up his face in disgust.

“A man is free to take away his affections just as he is to give them, Mr. Hickey.”

Hickey throws his cigarette on the ground with sudden determination and turns towards John.

“And are you free to give your affections now?” he asks, tilting his head inquisitively as he places his hand on John’s crotch.

John is simultaneously thrilled and ashamed to feel himself stirring at the slightest touch like an adolescent.

It has been so long…


	2. Hasn't anyone ever loved you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hickey and Bridgens have an unfulfilling encounter as their minds are both preoccupied with other men.

John wavers for a few seconds before retreating from Hickey’s touch. 

“Easy now,” Hickey says, as if he is talking to a cornered dog.

“That’s… I didn’t come out here for that.”

“Then why did you come out here, Bridgens?”

“To get away… I, I was becoming overwhelmed inside.”

“Jealous, were you?”

“I… no, I just…”

“You can be honest with me John. I came out here to get away from Billy Gibson’s stupid face going doe-eyed over your Mr. Peglar. Besides, I’m not much of a one for parties.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Indeed, and what else have you heard about me?”

“Nothing good.”

“And does that bother you, John?”

Hickey approaches John again slowly, placing his hand on his waist this time, lest he scare him off again. He never had to coax Billy so much to get his trousers off, even the first time. Hungry for it, he was. But the man in front of him is not Billy.

“Not at this moment,” Bridgens says ambivalently, placing a cold hand on Hickey’s cheek.

Hickey leans in and kisses the man’s neck, cringing at the sharp touch of John’s greying beard, harsh where’s Billy’s is soft, almost ticklish. He has to remind himself that he wants this. He moves things along by putting his hand down John’s trousers to stop himself overthinking. He wants to forget about the march and the ache in his belly when he saw the way Billy was looking at Henry Peglar.

“For God’s sake man, slow down, let me catch my breath,” John says, removing his hand from his semi-erect penis. Hickey’s own remains stubbornly soft in his trousers. 

“What do you want me to do, buy you a bunch of flowers?” Hickey says with irritation. 

“No, but… you could kiss me. A little romance never did a man any harm.” Hickey is inclined to disagree, but he does as John asks.

John’s greying beard scratches his face again and he is momentarily repulsed. He shoves his tongue sharply into John’s mouth. It tastes like tobacco and rum. John’s fat tongue responds in kind and Hickey finds himself thinking of Billy’s delicate, feminine mouth. He shrugs the thought off and finds John’s penis again, this time with no objection. John tries to return the favour but Hickey is still soft a goose-feather pillow. 

John pulls away from the kiss and holds Hickey’s face in his hands. “Are you well?”

“Yes. Just too much rum. But that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself.”

John is unconvinced but he has had plenty of rum himself and decides to ignore any hesitancy his sober self might have. He is embarrassingly hard now, given what little attraction he has for Hickey, but it has been so long since he has been touched by anyone other than himself, he no longer cares. 

Henry made it abundantly clear he wanted to make “a clean go of things” and live the life of “a normal Christian man.” John had no choice but to respect his wishes, even if it made their every encounter torturous. He would take that torture over the even worse idea of being apart from Henry altogether. 

John is distracted from his thoughts as Hickey drops to his knees and takes his leaking cock into his mouth. He’s a dab hand at it. John is enjoying the sensation as Hickey takes him down into his throat. He is somewhat well endowed, and his previous lovers have usually used their hands to help where their mouths could not, so this is a rather new experience for him. 

He can feel his orgasm reluctantly building in his belly until he is snapped out of his reverie as he hears the other man choking. John opens his eyes to see tears streaming from Hickey’s own. John pushes him away as Hickey remains on his knees in the snow. 

“What on earth are you doing?”

“You weren’t complaining.”

“No, but you shouldn’t put yourself in pain for the pleasure of someone else.” John shudders as he thinks that this is precisely what Hickey’s entire relationship to sex probably is. He dreads to think who taught him this. How many times he has done this act unwillingly.

John takes Hickey’s chin in his hand looks him in the eye. “Haven’t you ever been with someone who cared about you, loved you?” 

“No,” Hickey says flatly, and makes to return to his previous task.

“Stop,” John says, the sadness of Hickey’s answer killing any arousal he may have felt. 

“This was a mistake,” John says as he pulls up his trousers. “Come, let’s go back inside and have a drink.”

“You go. I want to take a piss.”

John is sure he sees fresh tears in Hickey’s eyes, but he struggles to care as he takes his leave, red shame curling up his neck as thinks about what a terrible mistake he’s made.


End file.
